How Draco Malfoy Became A Stalker
by The DG Forum
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Draco Malfoy's favorite people watching pastime escalated into something more. A chance meeting pushes him to take his people watching on the road.
1. A Prelude to Stalking

This story was written for** Anise** in **_The DG Forum's Fic Exchange – Winter 2015_** by a member of the forum. For more details, please visit our page!

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><p>Draco Malfoy liked to do two things on a Tuesday morning. One, drink a cup of Darjeeling from his favorite café near Piccadilly Circus, and two, watch all the people passing by and guess their stories. There were perhaps better ways to spend a Tuesday morning: charities, a game of Quidditch, or Merlin forbid, <em>working<em>. But for a Malfoy, who didn't particularly want to contribute anything to charity except with a couple thousand Galleons and a name, had no one to play Quidditch with that he would enjoy, and didn't need a job—well, Tuesday morning people watching was fine.

He entered the café right after the morning rush—if he had been 10 minutes earlier, he would have been packed into a room full of Muggles. As progressive as he had become, it just wasn't his cup of tea.

"Morning, Draco," the owner of the café greeted. She pinned her mess of curls back into a ponytail. "Let me guess, eggs benedict and a cup of Darjeeling?"

Draco nodded and took up his favorite seat next to the window. His first time in the café had been a year ago, on another dreary day in London. He had found himself in the middle of a downpour with Muggles all around. If he cast a spell, he would alert the Ministry to his presence, and the last thing he wanted them to know was that he was hanging around Muggle London. So he had ducked into the closest establishment – the café.

The owner, Marie, a woman who was only five or six years older than Draco—he could never remember—had greeted him with a cup of tea and a towel to dry off as much as he could. He had spent the next few minutes chatting with a complete stranger about his life and warming up by the small coal stove she kept in the corner of the café. It had been strange—in a good way, to talk to someone without them judging him, wanting something from him, or spitting on him.

"Here you go, love," Marie said, moving from behind the counter. She sat down across from him and rested her feet on the window ledge. "Oh look at this one, looks a bit hurried doesn't she?"

"How can she see where she's going behind that scarf?" Draco said shaking his head.

They were staring at a girl who was rushing through the streets, bundled in a scarf, a large coat, and a knit hat on her head. She didn't seem to be watching where she was going, but yet she didn't run into anyone. She was hurrying right towards the café.

"Oh, here she comes. Think she'll run into the door?" Marie laughed and stood up.

The door tinkled as she bound through the door, breathing a sigh as the cold air got shut out. She walked straight to the counter, perusing the menu. It was clear she had never been there before. Her hair came spilling out of the knit cap, an auburn color that was familiar—but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"I'll have a cup of the Jasmine tea," she said softly. She eyed the pastries behind the glass, pointing to a croissant. "Does that have chocolate in it?"

"For the person with a sweet tooth," Marie said. "Should I pack one?"

"To go," the girl replied. She dug around in her purse and counted out the change, dropping a few paper bills into the tip bucket. "Thanks."

"Come again," Marie said.

The girl turned around, cursing as she dropped her hat on the ground. When she stood up, Draco got a glimpse of a face that he found familiar. Brown eyes were hidden behind a pair of rectangular glasses, soft cheekbones were pink from the cold, and she had lips that seemed naturally pouty. If he had to describe her, he would say she looked a bit like a pixie. When she pushed her glasses up to the top of her head and stuffed her hat into her pocket, the Knut dropped.

He watched her leave, his eyes following her as she walked out the door. He hastily dropped money down on the table, rushing out as Marie said, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He lifted the collar of his coat and slipped his hands into his pockets, following her through the crowds. Draco wasn't sure why he was following her – well he did know. He just hadn't thought about it in four years.

The night of the final battle had been a distant memory—one he revisited in his dreams every night.

_Draco sat down behind a fallen piece of stone, watching the devastation around him as if time were slowly slipping through an hourglass of sand. He could feel the ground vibrating with the force of spells being shot as if the school was protesting the battle._

_The final battle. They would either end with Voldemort as their leader or with Saint Potter as their hero. _

_He drew his knees up to his chest, a million thoughts flying through his head. First and foremost, he didn't know if his parents were alive—if his deeds were enough in Voldemort's eyes to save them. The pressure made his shoulders physically ache. He leaned back against the stone, his head hitting against the chipped rock._

"_Well, well, well, a little Malfoy caught on his own."_

_Mulciber. Draco couldn't say there was anything akin to friendship, camaraderie, or even a sliver of likeness between Mulciber and the Malfoys. He often and loudly proclaimed the Malfoys to be the scum of Death Eaters, which quite frankly, Draco couldn't disagree with. They weren't very good Death Eaters, at least he wasn't. He didn't think he ever would be._

_There was of course the fact that Lucius Malfoy had done some less than savory dealings with the Mulciber family that had left the once rich Mulcibers nearly poverty stricken. The word in their society was that Mulciber had taken a loan from the Goblins just to keep his home._

_One should know never to get in business with Lucius Malfoy. He was known for being ruthless to partners, and always coming out on top of investment losses._

_"Shouldn't you be off hiding under your daddy's skirt?"_

_Draco knew he shouldn't—but he did. He laughed. The idea of his father in a skirt couple with the possibility of death by a Death Eater was just too much. Besides, if Mulciber knew anything, he would have known that it didn't make sense to hide behind his father anymore. Lucius Malfoy was out of favor with the Dark Lord and had been for some time.  
><em>

_Draco was stuck trying to pick up the crumpled pieces of his legacy and repair his family name in the eyes of the Dark Lord. So far, nothing he had done so far had gained any favors._

"_Something funny?" Mulciber grunted._

_Draco shook his head, still chuckling. "Nothing at all."_

"_I could kill you right here, right now. You and your kin are nothing. You serve the Dark Lord for your own gain—"_

"_As if you don't," Draco said shakily. "Isn't that what we're all doing? Serving a madman so he won't kill us, and we can revel in his power until he decides he doesn't' need us anymore?"_

"_I am doing this for Pureblood—"_

_"Except Aunt Bellatrix," Draco continued, partially hysterical. "I think she's as mad as he is and if the thought didn't repulse me, I might even say they would be a good couple."_

_Even Mulciber looked pale at that thought._

"_Enough chatter, boy," Mulciber snapped. "I'll relish in telling your father and sorry excuse for a mother what happened to you."_

_Draco moved to stand, to defend his family honor. But he couldn't. His limbs had given out from exhaustion, and his breathing was labored after inhaling the smoke from the fire. He was going to die at the hand of a second rate Death Eater, while choking on smoke from a fire. He waited for the moment his life would flash before his eyes. But it never did. Maybe it just wasn't worth showing._

"_Oh just get it over with." Draco's head slipped forward. _

_His parents were most likely dead. And if they weren't—well, maybe they would be better off dead. They had lived under the thumb of the Dark Lord for so long that Draco doubted there would be a happy ending for them._

_He heard the rustle of cloth as Mulciber lifted his wand, heard him mutter about sweet revenge, and then silence._

_Draco looked up in time for a dab of blood to be splashed on his face. Mulciber was gasping for air, his arm detached from his body. He screamed and collapsed, blood oozing—raw bone where a hand should have been._

_When he looked to the side, he saw Ginny Weasley standing there, red hair flying around her face, a look of shock on her face. He could see the blood draining from her face, her wand loosely by her side—as if she hadn't meant to slice his hand off._

"_Weasley—"_

"_Shut up," she snapped. She seemed to regain some color, eyeing the dying Mulciber—her face no longer betraying any sense of guilt or apology. "I don't like you. But I hate him."_

_She didn't say anything else, nor did she looked back as she ran off down the hall, her hair whipping around her face._

"_Help me," Mulciber groaned weakly._

"_I've watched better people than you die," Draco said._

_He didn't move. He just watched as the blood continued to pour on the floor and wondered about the Weasley girl. Would she make it through night?_

The last time Draco Malfoy saw Ginny Weasley was in the Great Hall, mourning over the loss of her brother. She was sobbing along with the rest of her brothers and her parents, but Draco couldn't help but to notice how broken she looked.

Shattered was a better word for it. She had looked shattered, as if it had all been too much to comprehend. And when he went looking for her a few weeks later, to pay his life debt to her, she was gone. He overheard his Aunt Andromeda, who had become his legal guardian and parole officer of sorts, discussing with her friend that the Weasleys were devastated that she was gone.

He thought maybe she had died. He never really looked into it much. But now, seeing her in his favorite café, he had to know—where did little Ginny Weasley go?

He followed her through the busy streets of London, pausing when she abruptly stopped outside of an alley. He kept his distance, curious to what she was doing. A long time ago, there had been a news piece that she had been spotted in Germany and then Paris. But nothing had been conclusive, and the Prophet was forced to print a retraction after the public outcry. After all, the Weasleys were still suffering the loss to their family, and the golden boy was said to be in mourning over his missing girlfriend.

It had been the stuff of the front pages when it was announced that the youngest Weasley had been in a relationship with Potter before leaving. For months, the Prophet couldn't decide if she was to be slandered for abandoning the Boy Who Lived or mourned, since it was a mystery if she was dead or alive.

Clearly, she was alive.

Draco watched her disappear down the alley, pushing her glasses atop her head. When he saw her stoop down to the ground and start digging through a box, he frowned. She was rooting through the trash in a Muggle alley, but she could afford the expensive coffee at the café—he didn't understand it. He watched as she continued to rummage around, coffee still in hand.

Not being able to hold his tongue any longer, he moved further into the alley. "I might have said that you were filthy and lived in the trash, but I didn't think it was actually _true_."

She screamed, spilling her coffee all over herself. "Fucking hell!"

"Dirty mouth too," Draco commented. He raised the collar of his coat to ward off the chilly breeze that swept through the alley. "So is this where you came to hide? The dirty alleys of Muggle London?"

"Do you know how hard it's going to be to get a coffee stain out of light gray trousers? Fuck," Ginny swore. She threw her coffee cup in the nearby trash. "And you scared the kitten."

"Lost a couple brain cells, did you?" He shoved his hands into his coat pocket. "You sound like you belong in the Janus Thickney ward, Weasley."

She turned to look at him fully for the first time, and he noticed that she looked older, more worn than she did that night. He remembered her eyes as being vibrant, flashing with intensity. Now, she seemed older—but then, so did he.

"Malfoy. Of all the people to find me, it was you," she said, dabbing her pants with the sleeve of her coat. "So, what do you want?"

"Nothing," he said with a shrug. "I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I would stop by your lovely _home_ for a chat. Is that a problem?"

"This isn't my home, Malfoy," she snapped. Her eyes fell to the ground, where he could see a small kitten peeking out from behind the dumpster. "It's her home—or him. I didn't get to that part yet."

"You're rummaging in the trash for _a cat_?"

She scowled at him. "It's a kitten, and she's stuck in the cold. I'd like to see you try and survive on your own, but I guess that's something you've never had to do."

Before he could respond, she had scooped up the kitten and took off through the alley. He followed closely behind her—no one walked away from Draco Malfoy mid-conversation. And even though he fought the notion that he cared what anyone thought of him, there was one thing that did irk him—he stood alone.

He was alone in Slytherin in his final year. He was alone when his parents were kept in a holding cell pending their trial. And he felt more and more alone now that he was no longer in constant contact with his Aunt Andromeda. She was busy with a toddler, and he had moved out now that his parole had been lifted.

They were walking towards a red brick building that stood in a square of residential homes and a corporate office. It must have been her home because she stood at the door, digging through her pockets and producing a set of keys.

He looked around the area, noting some of the higher end Muggle shops that he had come to know and for the most part, appreciate. He had to say, Muggles were pretty inventive and some of them, not all, had a good sense of style. He was loath to admit it, but some of their suits were cut finer than his custom tailored ones.

Her door opened again, and he stood behind a nearby tree, casually blending in with some of the other people milling about. She had changed out of her coffee stained trousers, and the cat was absent from her arms. He made a note of the street they were on before following her as she began walking back in the direction of the café.

He didn't really know why he was following her, but people watching was his favorite Tuesday morning activity. And he couldn't think of a better person to watch than the missing and presumed dead Ginny Weasley.

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><p><strong><strong>Cathy's Prompt #3<strong>**

**Basic premise: **Ginny has escaped to the Muggle world because of a disaster. Draco goes off after her.

**Must haves:** Ginny and Draco aren't extremely close at the time of her disappearance, but they have a past relationship. It's up to you whether it was romantic or not, and it's also up to you whether or not he brings her back.

**No-no's:** Harry being overly involved.

**Rating range:** T - NC-17

**Bonus points:** Ginny has a few pet cats. :)


	2. There Are Laws Against This

Ginny Weasley was not a fan of cold weather. In fact, on days where ice coated her windows and the weatherman declared that it was nearly below freezing, she tended to stay inside and laze in bed all day. After all, there was an endless supply of meaningless television that she could indulge in, and her kitchen pantry was always stocked with her favorite, fattening snacks.

Unfortunately, even with the cold seeping through her clothes, she still had to drag herself to work. The weather over the past few weeks couldn't seem to make up it's mind between cold and slightly less cold - and rainy or sunny. London would be filled with people sniffling, sneezing, and complaining about the fates that gave them the common cold. And when the doctor's insisted that their patients simply had to wait out their symptoms, they turned to herbal remedies. Everyone in the city knew that there was one place you could go to get at home remedies that actually worked, and that happened to be Magical Remedies—she hadn't been feeling particularly creative when she came up with that one.

Sure, she was probably breaking some kind of law. But there didn't seem to be any concrete rules behind using Potions on Muggles. So, until the Wizarding world caught up to her deeds, she would help people and, as terrible as it sounded, make a profit. She had to survive somehow and as a Muggle no less.

She crossed the street and entered the small shop that already had a customer, despite it having just opened fifteen minutes prior. She smiled and waved to Maggie, her only help in the shop. Maggie had known who and what Ginny was from the minute she had stepped into Magical Remedies, and while she could have probably blackmailed or turned Ginny in, all she wanted was a job. Her parents had passed recently, and Maggie found herself cut off from the Wizarding world. Ginny could understand that and had immediately offered her a position.

When Ginny bought the shop, there was one tiled room at the front and then a small office in the back that had been her makeshift Potion's lab. She wasn't able to use her wand, so she had to make Potions that didn't require any combined spell work. Eventually, after a year of proving her 'remedies' worked, she had made enough money to afford a Muggle renovation. No one questioned her odd work equipment because they thought she was one of those 'weird, hippie health gurus' as one of the contractors whispered. She had to look up what a hippie was, and she didn't think there was any similarity.

The storefront had been redone with soft blue walls and hardwood floors, and the back area had an office for her to do private consultations and an expanded lab. She had to go through a couple of hoops with zoning permissions and learning about Muggle laws, but at the end of the day, with a lot of wine and tears, she had figured it out. When Maggie had come on to work with her, Maggie had been kind enough to show Ginny a lot of things about the Muggle world that Ginny had come to appreciate like washing machines and dishwashers.

"Do I have anything scheduled?" Ginny sipped her room temperature coffee, missing the power to warm things with the wave of her wand. "I know I need to restock the cold remedies."

Maggie nodded, turning on the computer. Technology was still relatively new for Ginny, who left the computer work to Maggie. She had mastered telephones and the basics of the Internet. But Maggie handled all the specialty work like inventory management and bookkeeping. Prior to that, Ginny had simply used a large notebook.

"It looks like we're down to ten bottles." Maggie sat on her stool, tapping away at the computer. "Have you given any thought to starting a website?"

Ginny sighed and stared out the window. "I don't know. I can't really handle large quantities, and I don't want to bring too much attention to myself."

"Well, we can at least maybe take small orders that come through emails or something," Maggie said. She twisted a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "Just think about it some more."

"I will." Ginny looked at her watch. "Any appointments?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, it doesn't look like it."

"I guess I'll get to work on stocking our cold remedies." She took off her coat, waving to Maggie. "Call me if you need anything."

"Hey, Ginny, that guy is back. Should we call the police?"

Ginny spun around and looked out the window, frowning as she saw the blond man casually walking by the store. It had been a month since he started following her around. When she went shopping, she would see him outside the store window—although, sometimes it genuinely did seem like he was shopping. He would sit outside of the shop, and Maggie said he had stopped in once when she went out to grab lunch.

She had worried then that he would go and tell the Ministry, maybe to gain favor with them for him and his family. Or worst, she assumed her would go back to the Weasley family; tell them some sordid story about her. But after two weeks of nothing and no one, she began to wonder what exactly he was doing.

"Maggie, do you think you could do me a favor?" Ginny hung her coat in the back closet, looking back at the blond who was casually browsing through the magazine selections at the newsstand across the street.

"Sure thing."

"I need you to go to the Wizarding Archives—it's not in Diagon Alley."

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><p>Ginny shivered, pulling her scarf closer around her as light snowflakes started to fall around her. They never seemed to get much snow in London, but when they did, she never failed to complain about it. Maggie had been on the sitting end of quite a few rants, after all, she was pretty much the only friend that Ginny had in the Muggle world who knew about Ginny's roots. That made her privy to a lot of information, and in cases of too much wine, tears.<p>

"He's here again," Maggie said as she swept into the shop, stomping the snow off her boots. "Are you ever going to tell me what the story is behind him?"

Ginny shook her head. "Stuck in the past, maybe. I'm not sure. We never had much interaction at school."

Except that night. The night she lost her brother. The same night that she had committed acts that made her wake up soaking with sweat and tears pouring down her face. Her heart would clench up, fear coursing through her in the dark of her bedroom. And then it would leave after a few calming breaths and a reminder that she had left. She wasn't there anymore.

"Seems a little odd then, him following you around," Maggie said, flipping through her magazine. "Don't you think you should be worried that you have a stalker?"

Ginny looked out the window at the blond, his dark coat a stark contrast to the white of the snow. She could imagine how cold he was now, and he would probably get sick soon from all the waiting he did out there. And she wondered what he was doing out there.

When Maggie had returned from the Archives, she had all the news on Draco Malfoy that Ginny needed. His mother had been released from Azkaban and was rumored to have run off to the Malfoy Estate in France, the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire had been seized but not their money. His father was still rotting in Azkaban, as he should be. But Draco Malfoy had never seen the inside of the island prison. He had briefly been under the Ministry's scrutiny before they let him off with a slap on the wrist.

Ever since, he had pretty much disappeared from the headlines from what she could tell. The few articles that mentioned him only printed his name and the charity he donated to. There was nothing else. It was as if he, just like she did, had disappeared from the Wizarding world entirely.

"I brewed a pot of coffee in the back," Maggie said, snapping her from her thoughts. "It looks like you could use some."

"I never knew what coffee was before I started hanging around in the Muggle world," Ginny said with a sigh. "Now if I don't drink it, I feel like the world is out to get me."

"It is," Maggie said with a grin.

Ginny walked to the small kitchenette in the back hallway, grabbing two mugs. She had seen him enjoy coffee before and frankly, this strange game of watching and waiting was getting unnerving. Whenever she heard sounds outside her doorstep in the nighttime, she wondered if it wasn't Aurors, coming to arrest her for feeding Muggles Potions—or worst, her parents.

"I'll be right back," Ginny said.

Before Maggie could question her, she swept outside in the cold winter air, the wind making her regret her choice to be nice. He seemed slightly surprised to see her before a mask of indifference crossed his features. She almost thought she would have seen a sneer, maybe receive a comment about dirty blood. The silence was surprising and a little unnerving.

"It's cold," she said, offering him the mug in her hand.

"Yes, Weasley, that would be the usual temperature in the winter," he drawled.

"You mean it's not supposed to be warm?" she exclaimed in false-shock.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

"Why are you following me?" she asked.

"Subtlety must not be a term in your vocabulary," Draco replied. He eyed the mug with trepidation.

"It's not poisoned," Ginny said exasperatedly. She took the mug from him and sipped it before handing it back to him. "See? Still alive."

"Yes, that's how I take my coffee, with a dash of Weasley saliva," he said with a sneer.

"I'm sweet, so I'm sure I taste sweet too," she replied.

He smirked. "Are you propositioning me to _taste_ you, Weasley?"

"I didn't—"

"Not even a date first. What kind of man do you think I am?" he said in mock exasperation.

"I don't want you to taste me," she snapped.

An old couple passing looked at her with shock before scurrying past.

"A shame," he said, his eyes roving across her body. "I'm not sure I would mind."

Ginny blushed. She couldn't help it. "Excuse me—"

"You're excused." He smirked, slowly sipping on the coffee. "Mm, delicious."

"There's no consistency for you. You go from brooding to—I don't even know what that is," Ginny said.

"Handsome, sexy, a gift to women? Take your pick, Weasley," he said.

"And I was coming to be nice," Ginny said. "But if you're going to be whatever this is, then I'll go inside where it's warm."

"I am warm, Weasley. You can't have forgotten that you were a witch. You make Potions for a living." He leaned back on the bench that he had occupied on a practically daily basis. "Tell me, how does the Ministry feel about you feeding—"

"I'm done here," Ginny said, tensing her shoulders.

"You didn't answer my question," he said as she moved to cross the street.

"You didn't ask me one worth answering," she replied.

"Did you forget you were a witch?" he asked, setting the mug down on the bench next to him. "You've already started this mess with the Muggles, but all you give them is Pepper Up and Acne potions. There's so much more—"

"If you'll notice Malfoy, you're the one sitting on a toasty seat with a warming charm, not me," Ginny said. She eyed the people around them. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Why'd you run, Weasley?"

"I don't know, why did you?"

She hurried across the street, not giving him an opportunity to say anything in response.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Ginny found herself staying in. It was cold, and Malfoy had given her nightmares. She woke up in a cold sweat, grasping for a wand that wasn't there and screaming a slicing spell that still haunted her. She couldn't think of a better reason for a day off.<p>

Of course, she would have preferred if someone weren't knocking on her door at eight in the morning when she was trying to snuggle back into her warm cocoon.

"What's the point of staying home if I have to get up early?" she grumbled.

She shooed the kitten that she had taken to calling 'Allie' out of the way, moving into the living room. Very few people would disturb Ginny on a self-proclaimed day off, and if they did, they knew they had better be in dire need of her. If not having coffee made her feel like the world was out to get her, not having enough sleep made her out to get the world.

"Merlin's beard," Ginny snapped, pulling her robe on. "I'm coming."

"Hurry up, Weasley!"

"Malfoy?" Ginny threw open her door, glaring at the blond on the other side.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asked.

"Yes, five minutes past eight," she answered. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here? And how do you even know where I live? Did you stalk me home too?"

"Well, when you rudely walked away from our conversation—"

"That wasn't a conversation," Ginny said. She shivered as a gust of air swept into her house. "Now, stop stalking me, Malfoy or I'll call the police. I think you've seen enough."

"I'm not stalking you," he said haughtily.

"So what exactly are you doing? It looks an awful lot like stalking," Ginny said. "Any word you use for it: following, watching, observing—it's still stalking."

"That's besides the point," he said, attempting to derail the subject.

"That's the only point," she retorted. "You're stalking me, and it's an awfully bad habit of yours that you should quit. Other girls might not be so nice as to give you a warning before they call the police."

"I'm not stalking other girls," he said.

"So just me then?" she asked, enjoying the slight look of frustration that flashed in his eyes. "If you were trying to make me feel flattered, I have to say, it's not working."

"I'm not—"

"Oh the denial again," Ginny said, tsk-ing. "I think there's some Muggle psychology that says the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. And your problem happens to be stalking. I can recommend a great therapist."

"Had to see a therapist then?" he asked.

"Goodbye, Malfoy," she said, moving to close the door.

"I have a debt to pay, Weasley. I'm not going anywhere." He stood there stoically, all traces of humor and innuendo gone. "How much—"

She scowled at him. "Don't be daft, Malfoy. I don't want or _need_ your money. You don't owe me anything, so please leave."

"You saved my life that night—"

"And I took another," Ginny replied. "You don't have to remind me of what happened that night, Malfoy. I am well aware."

"Weas—"

"Malfoy, the Muggle world really isn't that bad," Ginny said. "Who knows you might even find a nice girl to stalk, one who actually likes that kind of thing. But I would really be careful because she might be a good case for the Janus Thickey Ward."

She closed the door on him, leaning back against it. She didn't know what had possessed him to follow her or why he kept doing it, but he needed to stop. She could feel the panic welling up inside of her again, and the nightmares were returning—had been ever since she saw him for the first time in the alley. She had a life here, a world separate from a past of violence and pain. Ginny had every intention of keeping things that way.

Small meows made her look down at four cats, walking around her in circles. They had all been rescue kittens at one point, and somehow, she never found anyone to take them in. Unfortunately, if she didn't stop coming across stray cats everywhere, her house would look like a kitten orphanage soon. But she couldn't bear to see anyone stuck outside in the cold, suffering. Perhaps she would just open a cat orphanage and adopt cats.

"Now there's an idea," Ginny said. She made a shooing motion. "I'll get to your food soon enough."

"Are you talking to yourself in there, Weasley?"

She huffed, opening the door. "Honestly, what will it take to make you go away?"

"Cats, Weasley? You're keeping cats?" He smirked. "No wonder you seemed so desperate to have me taste—"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, do you have a mood disorder, Malfoy? I can't keep up," Ginny said. She moved to close the door, but his foot slid in the way. "Malfoy, I will call the police."

"No you won't," he said.

"So sure of yourself, are you?" Ginny crossed her arms. "You should know that I don't back down to a challenge."

He raised an eyebrow. "So if I dare you to call the Muggle police on me—"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said in a sing-song voice. "I would really hate to lose a dare."

"I dare you," he drawled, his eyes alight with humor.

"Just remember those words."

* * *

><p>"Did you make any friends? Find a new girl to stalk in there?"<p>

On the list of her things to do today, one of them was not bail Malfoy out of prison. Of course, she didn't really have to bail him out, just go down to the station and let the police know that it was the wrong man. They asked her a few questions about the 'other' man that was following her, and she gave them some vague details. With a promise to contact them if she saw him again, they released Malfoy with insincere apologies.

"You got me arrested," he said, putting his coat on. "I should report you to the Ministry."

Ginny shrugged. "Do what you will, but just remember, you dared me."

"Yes, but what kind of mad woman calls the police on—"

"Someone who's _stalking _her?" Ginny raised an eyebrow, handing him his personal effects that the police had given her. "Let's not forget that part."

"I wasn't stalking you."

"Call it what you want, Malfoy, but you were stalking me. You knew where I worked, where I lived, and I've seen you when I'm out shopping. That is considered stalking," Ginny said. She checked her watch. "Would you like to go get something to eat?"

"So this was just a way for you to ask me on a date?" He smirked. "Weasley, you didn't have to go through the trouble of having me arrested to ask me on a date. It's rather unconventional of you."

"Shove it. I figured we could call it even," she said.

"You got me arrested, Weasley. It's going to take more than lunch to make up for that," he replied. "I feel like I need to go scrub my skin raw."

"A little bit of germs won't kill you. And if you get some sort of disease, I might have something at the shop to help you," Ginny said. She slipped a knit hat on her head, ignoring his scowl. "So, lunch and dinner then?"

"Keep going," he said. "I had to sit between two balding men, who looked like they wanted to eat _me_ for lunch."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "That image, I could have done without it."

"I could have done without living it," he said. "I'm a Malfoy, we don't sit in prisons—"

She cleared her throat.

"With Muggles," he finished.

"Then don't stalk witches, who live as Muggles," Ginny said. She clapped her hands together. "There, I solved all your problems. Let's eat."

"Food doesn't fix everything," Draco said, following behind her.

"But it fixes most things," Ginny said with a smile. "Now, let's go. I could really eat a slice of greasy pizza."

"They say you're a health guru. Should you really be eating pizza?"

"I provide remedies for the sick, Malfoy, not health advice. When I finish my pizza and feel sick, I have a Potion for that. " She stopped, pausing on the street corner. "Now does it make your job of stalking me easier if I tell you where I'm going?"

"I'm not—"

"We can walk now," she interrupted. "Stalk me this way, Malfoy."


	3. A New Perspective

There were a few things in life that Ginny was certain about. One, she was officially a cat lady—up to seven rescue cats now. Two, Draco Malfoy getting arrested had opened a door that she didn't think existed. Three, she was madly in love with the blond, who had a penchant for stalking her even now. She didn't know how or when it happened. Perhaps it had been the night they had spent talking about his life—and how much he feared his future and his past.

"_Do you miss it?"_

"_What?"_

_They were lounging on her back porch, drinking wine –and whisky for Draco since wine was too feminine, staring into the fire pit she had built out back. It was a normal spring pastime for them—it had been since she had gotten him arrested._

"_The authority that being a Malfoy gave you," Ginny said. She leaned into him, idly drawing lines on his biceps. "The power and invincibility."_

"_We were never invincible, otherwise I wouldn't be here," he said. He sat up, putting his whisky glass on the floor. "I don't miss it. Not now, when I have this."_

"_Did you miss it before?"_

"_Being a Malfoy came with a price," he said. "I was always expected to be something: aloof, cool under pressure, strong. But I was barely an adult when Father went to Azkaban the first time, and I was suddenly put in this terrible position of leading a household."_

"_That must have been awful," Ginny said, remembering how he had been mocked mercilessly in the Gryffindor Common Room that year._

"_Everyone always expected me to portray this image—but I was scared shitless all the time. When I met the Dark Lord for the first time, I cried myself to sleep that night. And when I look back on it now, I feel ashamed that I could never do what Potter did."_

"_You did, in your own way," Ginny said. She sat up, resting her head on his shoulder. "Harry had the same pressure on him. Everyone always looked to him to lead us into a battle that he wasn't prepared for."_

"_Can anyone be prepared for battle?" asked Draco._

"_No, I don't think so," Ginny said. She sighed. "You and Harry are just two sides of a coin. On one hand, you were expected to lead your family, and you took on the responsibility to keep them alive—"_

"_Potter took on the responsibility to keep everyone alive," Draco interrupted._

_Ginny shrugged. "You're apples and oranges, Draco. Not everyone can be Harry Potter. I doubt he even knew what being Harry Potter meant when we all fought in the war."_

"_All the things leading up to it too, our time in school," Draco laughed, though it was devoid of humor. "It wasn't a school. It was a game of politics at every turn. Safety within the walls of Hogwarts was never guaranteed. But people say it was the best time of their lives."_

"_We all had different roles," Ginny said. "Some people got a normal childhood, and some of us were possessed by evil."_

"_I'm—"_

"_Don't apologize for that," Ginny said, holding her finger up to his lips. "I didn't say it for an apology."_

"_To answer your question, no, I don't miss it. I think my life is fine as it is now. I support the Wizarding World with everything that I can, financially, and I don't have to worry about playing power games."_

"_And you get to see me everyday, don't forget that," Ginny said smiling._

"_I don't know that I would consider that a good thing."_

"_Remember that when you're warming the couch tonight."_

There was so much about Draco that had changed. She had a hard time picturing that boy he used to be at Hogwarts. And now, when she looked back at it, all she could think about was how it must have felt to have your parents always pushing you into something you didn't feel was right.

"Knut for your thought?"

"Just thinking," Ginny said. She smiled, handing him a glass of whisky.

"Good thoughts?"

"Yes, like my plans for finding a Potion for that snoring thing you do," Ginny said.

"Malfoys do not snore," Draco drawled.

"This Malfoy does," Ginny said, pointing at him.

"You can't prove it," Draco said.

"Is this like that time where you said you weren't stalking me?" asked Ginny.

"I was not stalking, I was studying your habits so I could approach you to repay my debt," Draco said.

"Synonyms of a word have relatively the same meaning," Ginny said. "Grab the popcorn."

"I got an invitation from the Ministry," Draco said.

Ginny turned on the television, pressing play on the remote. "For what?"

"They're having the War Memorial Gala in four months," Draco said. "It's been seven years now."

"It hasn't felt that long," Ginny said. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Do you think it'll ever settle into our thoughts as nothing but a memory?"

"Maybe one day," Draco said.

"Are you going?"

"Hm?"

"To the Gala," Ginny said.

"I've been invited," he said noncommittally.

"That was nice of them," she said. Seeing his affronted look, she rolled her eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I've not seen you get anything but nasty letters from the Ministry over the past year. I don't know why you put up with it."

"We can't all run away so easily," Draco murmured.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you were saying," Ginny said sarcastically.

"Then I guess it wasn't worth hearing," Draco said, standing up and stretching. "I think I'll go home before this turns into something bigger than it should be."

"It wasn't easy," Ginny said, walking into the kitchen. "I'll see you tomorrow for Maggie's party."

Being with Draco had been a whirlwind. They had been friends first, after she had gotten him arrested. And then one night, a couple of wine bottles and commiserating on their lives had changed everything. There was awkwardness as was to be expected after you went from friends to something more. But then it was simple again. They fell into a smooth rhythm.

He surprised her with his knowledge of the Muggle world and his love for theatre. Of course, she made fun of him endlessly for it—nothing had changed in that regard. He showed her things that revealed so much about the life that he had been living, a life away from the magical world they grew up in. He wasn't the Draco Malfoy she remembered, who would never be caught dead in a Muggle theatre.

With him, she learned to appreciate so much more about the Muggle world and yet, it made her miss being a witch. It wasn't the fact that he used his magic around her because he rarely did. They had learned the hard way that any amount of wand waving could induce panic attacks that left Ginny catatonic for hours. It was simply the talk of her home, of the changes.

He had started bringing her the Daily Prophet, and she devoured it every morning, inhaling new facts and searching for sightings of her family. It was painful to know that she was so close to them, but she had blocked herself off from them. She knew she couldn't go back and face them, see the look of hurt and pain on her mother's face—and Harry. How could she explain to him what happened?

"You know, you never talk about it."

Ginny jumped. "I thought you were leaving."

"You looked like a wounded cat," he said.

Allie purred at him from her spot on the floor. She had taken to Draco from the minute he started to become a regular at Ginny's home. In fact, they would often wake up to find her between them, snuggled on Draco's chest.

"I think she takes offense to that," Ginny said, dumping out the popcorn. "I'm fine. You can go home."

"I can't help you if you never talk about it," Draco said, leaning against the counter. "Didn't Elaine say you had to speak to someone about everything that happened?"

"Elaine is a Muggle therapist. I can't exactly tell her that I was in a war with magic wands and killing curses, can I?"

"So, tell me." He walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You made me open up to you about my problems, why don't you do the same?"

"You didn't have problems," Ginny said, closing her eyes.

"My father is in prison, my mother is hiding in a rundown manor in the French countryside, and I don't have a place in this world," Draco said dryly. "Tell me again that I don't have problems."

"You do have a place," Ginny said, turning in his arms. "It's here. And I know you navigate through our world with just as much finesse as you do the Muggle world. I can't imagine you doing anything but strutting through Diagon Alley like you own it."

"That's because _I do_ own it." He kissed her forehead. "All the new buildings are owned by me."

"You never explained that to me—"

"Stop trying to change the subject," he warned. He pulled her over to the bar stools, sitting her down. "If you don't tell me why you ran from it—"

"I didn't run," she said.

"Who was it that told me that synonyms didn't change definitions?" He smirked when she scowled at him. "I think that was you."

"This isn't a discussion I want to have," Ginny said.

"Was it the panic attacks?" Draco rubbed her shoulders. "I've seen how you get around my wand. Did having everyone using magic make it worst?"

"Let's just leave it," Ginny said.

"Tell me why you refuse to go back. Your family—"

"Is better off not knowing where I am," Ginny said.

"Aunt Andromeda says that Mrs. Weasley looks at her clock everyday," Draco said.

"One of my largest regrets is not removing my hand," Ginny said.

"Really? Is that your largest regret?" Draco crossed his arms and gave her a piercing look. "You killed someone."

Ginny froze. He had never accused her of that, despite being there when it happened. They had never discussed that night, not since before she had him arrested. He had dropped the life debt notion, and they had never again brought it up. Even when she woke up with night terrors, he never asked her about them. To see him stoically stand there and accuse her of something she had been trying to forget was painful.

"Excuse me," Ginny said, moving to stand up.

"You killed him, Ginny. You sliced his hand off," Draco said, gripping her arms. "Do you remember that?"

"Remember?" she said shakily. "What do you think those nightmares are about? And how dare you accuse me of killing someone. I did it to save you."

"Yes, but you still killed him," Draco said. "That's still punishable—"

"Why do you think I'm here?" Ginny snapped.

Draco let her go and stepped back. "Is that why you ran away?"

"I didn't run," Ginny said, her eyes taking in the cover of the latest issue of the Prophet. Kingsley was re-elected again as Minister of Magic, and he waved up at her, a broad smile on his face. "I removed myself so that my family wouldn't know the truth."

The first week after the war, she had agonized over the memories of that night, over the murders. She had woken up screaming, crying out to anyone to just stop. Her brother was dead. Her mother was in shock and refused to leave her room. George was catatonic. And then one night, her mother came into her room, just to hold her and tell her how glad she was that Ginny was alive. She told her how glad she was that Ginny faced the brutalities of war, but she was still there, still _innocent_.

But she wasn't. She couldn't be.

"If my family knew what I did—"

"They would realize that you did it to protect someone and would say that you had a kind heart," Draco said. "Did you ever tell anyone?"

"Of course not," Ginny said. She paced the floor. "That night, I didn't mean to send a slicing hex. It was an accident. I wasn't thinking, and there were so many people screaming and the blood—"

Draco hugged her, holding her close to his chest. "It's okay."

"There was so much happening, and you looked so scared, so fragile. And I couldn't stand to see another child die, whether or not you were innocent," Ginny said, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't know what spell came out of my mouth, I just pointed and then—"

"Shh, I know. I was there," Draco said.

"I was scared of what people would think of me when I told them. It felt like my first year all over again," Ginny said quietly. "That night was out of my control."

"It was for everyone," Draco said. "I tried to kill your brother, Potter, and Granger."

"You were a child put in an impossible situation," Ginny said, looking up at him. "How could someone put that much pressure on you and expect you to make the right decision?"

"You can excuse me for almost killing your family, but you can't forgive yourself for killing an enemy?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "You're giving yourself a hard time for nothing."

"It's not that simple," Ginny argued.

"If you hadn't done what you did that night, we wouldn't be here tonight arguing about it," Draco said.

"I could have stunned him or knocked him unconscious." Ginny shook her head. "I could have even killed him in a less brutal way. I cut his hand off Draco, and he bled to death."

"And he was not a good man. He would have killed both of us—and painfully," Draco said. "Do you honestly think that his first spell would have been the killing curse? He hated me and my family, he planned on making me suffer."

"That doesn't justify killing someone," Ginny said.

"You can be as stubborn as you like on the subject, but you won't convince me that what you did that night deserves this amount of guilt," Draco said. "You've cut yourself off from your family and your home because you murdered a murderer. You're making him win."

"No one won that night," Ginny replied.

"We did," Draco said, pulling her to him. "One day you'll realize that and stop exiling yourself from the people you love."

"I have you," Ginny said.

"And one day, I won't be enough," he replied. "Let's go watch the movie."

* * *

><p>Ginny sat down on the patio, pondering how she had gotten here. She had adamantly refused to step anywhere near the Wizarding World for years, for reasons that felt valid to her. But one discussion with Draco had thrown all of that into chaos. Her surety failed, and she had to sit and revaluate where her life had gone.<p>

She didn't regret her choices. She had built a successful business—an entirely legal one. Draco had done some research and since magic wasn't used to create the Potions, except the low-grade magic that was infused in Ginny's touch, she technically was not breaking any rules. Her mixtures were all technically herbal, just as advertised.

In any case, her business was running itself with the help of Maggie, who had taken over all aspects of handling the shop, except the brewing. And with Maggie, she had built a friendship and met friendly Muggles, who were practically a part of her family.

She had a home, a nice home that was infused with her tastes and style. She had her own brand of children in the form of furry felines. Plus, she had Draco, who she would never have been with if she hadn't made the choice to leave her home. So much good had come out of that decision that it was hard to see the bad.

Now she was moments away from being announced to the Wizarding World. She had just left the private room that Draco had rented for her to see her family before the Gala, and the party was due to start at any moment.

It had been a tearful reunion. Mrs. Weasley had promptly fainted when Ginny entered the room. Her brothers had looked between her and Draco with varying degrees of paleness, and Hermione and Harry had looked on as if they were scared to disrupt the moment. There had been hugs, tears, laughs, and yelling—nothing unexpected.

"Champagne?"

Ginny smoothed down her midnight blue robes and accepted the glass. "How is it in there?"

"I think your mother has finally calmed down," Draco said. "She's asking for you now. I imagine she won't want to let you out of her sight any time soon."

"She never did," Ginny replied.

Draco set both of their glasses down on the stone banister, pulling her into his embrace. "Do you think we should tell them?"

Ginny smiled. "No, we'll keep the engagement a secret for now. Too much good news in one day might kill them."

"I'm not sure they would consider that good news," Draco said. "Your father looks like he's going to combust every time I stand near you."

"Well, whether they find it good or bad, the reaction will most likely be the same," Ginny said. She sighed, leaning into him. "I'd rather not lose anyone tonight."

Draco smiled, slipping his finger under her chin to tilt her head up. "I don't think that will happen, no matter what you tell them."

"I love you," Ginny said.

She placed her arms on his shoulders, leaning up to touch her lips to his. It was always the same, the rush of warmth in her stomach, the tingling in her lips, the electrifying sensation when he placed his hand on the small of her back. No matter how many times they kissed, touched, or talked, Draco still made her feel the same excitement and desire to be with him.

It was its own magic.

"Thank you," she said, pulling away from him.

"For the kiss?" Draco asked, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. "I am happy to oblige."

"No, for stalking me. If you were never such a creepy stalker, we wouldn't be here today."

"I'll add that to my list of good traits then."


End file.
